


The Ghost of Christmas Past

by PhilosophicalRune



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Video Blogging RPF) - Fandom, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Crying, M/M, No Smut, Rated for angst and sadness, Sad Ending, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 22:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilosophicalRune/pseuds/PhilosophicalRune
Summary: It is Christmas Eve in the mind palace, and the Sides are shocked to learn that Virgil is such a grinch when it comes to Christmas. What begins as gentle banter between Virgil and Roman devolves into arguments that will scar the Sides' relationships with one another for a very long time.





	The Ghost of Christmas Past

“Come on, Virgil! You can’t hate Christmas that much!” Roman cried out in a dramatically shocked voice, a hand splayed over his heart as he steadied the ladder for Patton, who was in the process of hanging mistletoe from apparently every nook and cranny in the entirety of the mind palace.

“Actually, Roman,” Virgil retorted from the couch, where he was surfing Tumblr on his phone, “I can hate and not hate whatever the hell I want, regardless of the pressure you idiots with your Christmas fetishes put upon me.”

“I’d like to interject with the statement that I have never had a fetish for anything in my life, all things Christmas included, and that I also am not an idiot,” Logan said calmly as he entered the living room from the kitchen, “I have reason to believe you don’t entirely understand what a fetish is, Virgil, so I shall explain. A fetish, according to the Oxford English Dictionary-”

“No, I know what a fetish is, teach, thanks,” Virgil quickly interrupted, “I was just being sarcastic about these nerds’ obsession with Christmas.”

“It is not a  _fetish!_ ” Roman cried, his cheeks flushing, “I’m just  _enjoying the Christmas spirit-”_

“Now boys, don’t fight!” Patton chided, tying the red ribbon around the mistletoe securely, “Roman, Virgil’s allowed to like or dislike whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to like or dislike whatever the hell I want,” Virgil said, jutting his chin out and grinning mockingly at Roman. He flipped the creative side off when Patton’s eyes were back on the mistletoe.

Roman huffed and stuck out his tongue, but grinned triumphantly when Patton said “I saw that, Virgil.”

“Saw what?” Virgil asked, tucking his phone and hands into the pockets of his hoodie and staring at Patton with a look of complete innocence. Roman scowled.

“You gave Roman the bird! You know that’s rude,” Patton cried, climbing down from the ladder, “Please make an effort to be nice, kiddo. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve, Shitscram Schmeve,” Virgil huffed, flipping up his hoodie and digging his phone out of his pocket again.

Patton breathed out a heavy sigh as Roman and Virgil began bickering again. The two had become closer friends since the disastrous foray into Virgil’s room, but they still bickered on sore topics that they both stubbornly took sides on. Patton couldn’t tell whether or not their bickering was actually the good humored sniping that came from strong friendships or whether or not they actually still felt malice towards one another based upon an old habit struggling to fade away. It was confusing; they’d argue, but then they’d grin at one another whenever they flipped each other off.

He shook his head of his thoughts in time to hear Virgil mutter “Christmas is lame.”

At this, Roman was flabbergasted. “Dude!  _How?_  You know what... _Y-You’re_  lame! You...Y-You  _grinch!_ ” he said, fumbling with his words.

Virgil looked up at Roman over the edge of his phone, his expression unimpressed. “Oh, ow.  _That_  sure hurt,” he said scornfully, flicking his gaze back into the blue glaze of his screen, “I expected a better nickname from the creative side.”

They continued to bicker, Roman even seating himself on the couch next to Virgil so that they could have an easier time at flipping each other off.

“Boys!” Patton said severely, his hands on his hips. He sighed when the other two ignored him, and looked imploringly to Logan, who was coolly reading a book on physics while seated on his armchair. “Logan, can I get some help here, please?”

Logan marked his page and closed the book, gently placing it aside. He quietly cleared his throat, and stood, looking to Roman and Virgil expectantly. Patton grinned when silence fell over the room; Logan had the stern aura of a gentle yet serious professor who would simultaneously give advice yet take no nonsense.

“Roman, I believe that it is best that you heed to Patton’s advice; not everyone in this world has to have the same opinion as you do. Do not give me that look; you should know this by now,” Logan monotoned, silencing Roman’s protest with a furrow of his eyebrows. Virgil grinned, but his smile faltered when Logan’s analytical stare fell upon him.

“Virgil, I believe what you are doing now is what they call ‘lashing out’, which is when a person has something on their mind that is deeply bothering them, so they try to ‘expel’ the negative emotions by taking physical or verbal action that can be harmful to themselves or others,” Logan murmured, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt, “Naturally, this does not work nearly as well as when someone opens up about the potentially negative feelings they may be harboring. So, Virgil, do you have any negative feelings you wish to expel, or do you wish to keep bottling them and risk injury to you, Thomas, or us?”

Virgil snorted, pulling his hood down further along his bangs and rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness, “Well, let me think. Do I, the literal fucking embodiment of anxiety, have any negative feelings?”

“Virgil, language,” Patton scolded.

Logan placed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I sense that that rhetorical question was laden with sarcasm.”

“Yeah, ya think? Man, you can be dense sometimes,” Virgil hissed, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, his lips curling and his jaw clenching.

Virgil had hit a sore spot; Logan tensed up, his arms folding and his shoulders squaring. “Falsehood!” he snapped, raising his voice, “And what you’re doing now exactly proves my point! You’re lashing out because I appear to have unearthed a sensitive topic; your feelings about Christmas, or, rather-”

“-Hey, leave him alone, Logan, you’re-!” Roman started to say, but Virgil stamped his foot, cutting him off.

“I’m not lashing out about  _anything!_ ” Virgil shouted, leaping up from the couch, his hood falling back to reveal disheveled hair that only added to his threatening appearance, “ _Jesus_ , I voice one negative opinion and you all bash me down and start psychoanalyzing me! I just don't like Christmas, and you all Whos in Whoville just have to accept it!”

Logan, normally so collected, was turning bright red; he was about to open his mouth to argue further when Patton quickly hurried over and laid a hand on his forearm. Logan shut his mouth, and merely fumed as Patton looked reproachfully at Virgil.

“Kiddo…” he said quietly, “Why  _do_  you hate Christmas so much?”

Virgil gawked at Patton, blinking incredulously. His arms were stiff at his sides, his legs splayed apart and bent as if he was about to spring.  He let out a high pitched, stuttering laugh, one that was heavy with sarcasm.

“Why do  _I_  hate Christmas?” he snarled, ferociously zipping up the hoodie, “I’ll let you guys resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past to answer  _that_  question.”

And with that, he sunk out of the room.

Logan was the first to break the heavy silence. “I wasn’t aware that Virgil was a Dickens fan.”

“I don’t think he was fanboying about Charles Dickens, teach,” Roman said quietly, his disturbed expression fixed on the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

Patton furrowed his brow, and squeezed Logan’s arm tighter to draw him out of his reverie. “Who’s Charles Dickens? What did he mean, ‘Ghost?’ It’s Christmas, not Halloween!”

Logan chuckled, and pried Patton’s hand away. “He was referring to the famous British novelist and journalist that authored  _A Christmas Carol_ , a fictitious tale of a stingy and bitter old man by the name of Ebenezer Scrooge, who was visited by a series of spirits, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. They all tried to show him the error of his greedy ways and tried to teach him the magical message of Christmas kindness. All nonsense of course.”

“Oh,” Patton said, his expression troubled, “Why would he mention that when I asked him why he hated Christmas?”

“Well, _A Christmas Carol_  is a rather dark tale for Christmas, so perhaps he hates the holiday because he dislikes Dickens’s view-”

“No, shut up, Logan!” Roman said suddenly, leaping to his feet. Patton and Logan turned to look at him incredulously, but their gazes turned into ones of concern when they saw the alarm on Roman’s face. He was running his hands through his hair and turning in slow circles, a common thing he did when he was feeling guilty.  

“Consider me shut,” Logan said after a few moments, prompting Roman to speak.

“...I think Virgil said ‘resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past’ because he wants us to think back on all of our previous Christmases,” Roman began slowly, his face whitening, his throat constricting violently as he swallowed with difficulty, “So let's think about Virgil’s past Christmases.”

The three sides fell silent as they delved back into their memories.

But no matter how far back they wracked their brains, they could not see a single picture of Virgil enjoying Christmas. There were no memories of him decorating, no memories of him baking, no memories of him watching stupid Christmas TV specials.

And that was because-

“...Virgil has never had a real Christmas,” Roman whispered in a small voice.

Logan blinked rapidly, placing his palm on his forehead, his breath hitching. “Oh, my god…” he breathed.

Patton’s lip wobbled, his hands pressing against his cheeks. “Oh no,  _oh no_ …”

Roman sank back onto the couch, the sound of Patton bursting into guilty tears echoing in his ears. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he too felt intense shame and guilt wash over him, pricking at the back of his eyes in the form of tears. He thought his guilt would go away since Virgil had forgiven him all those months ago, forgiven him for believing that Virgil was a villain that Thomas wanted, needed him to vanquish or else Roman would fall out of favor, but here that guilt was again, like a scar or a flashback to a traumatic time.

Roman blinked minutes later, forcing himself to surface after submerging himself with his dark thoughts. He saw that Patton was still sobbing, but he now had a blanket around his shoulders and that the fire was roaring. Logan was awkwardly patting his back, his expression troubled and tinged with guilt.

“Why did you have to go and...and  _expose_  him like that, Logan?” Roman snapped, his tone much more vehement than he had intended.

Logan looked up sharply, his mouth a thin line. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

“I mean you had to go and nitpick him, saying that he’s got all these problems pent up and that’s why he was acting up!” Roman hissed, his hands wringing.

“But that is the truth, Roman, why be so frivolous when it is much more efficient to not ‘beat around the bush’, as you would say?” Logan deadpanned.

Roman opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a hollow, incredulous laugh. Anger seethed in his chest, and he felt himself agitatedly stand up, pacing back and forth, his hands clinging to his hair.

“ _Jesus_ , why are you so emotionally dense?!” he hissed, his eyes glinting like sword points at Logan.

Logan was upright in an instant, his eyes flashing. “Because emotions are not my forte! You should know this!”

“And _you_  should know that feelings, especially Virgil’s, aren’t something that are to be dealt with ‘ _efficiently’_  like they’re some puzzle!” Roman shouted, turning sharply to face Logan, his eyes blazing, “He is a person, an actual, feeling person, not some  _equation_  for you to solve!”

Logan looked like he was about to shout something scathing when the sound of Patton crying increased and they both saw Patton burying his head in his arms. Logan and Roman exchanged glances before Logan knelt down beside Patton.

“No, no, no, not on Christmas Eve, please not today!” Patton cried, his voice muffled. He shrunk away from Logan’s touch, and lifted his head.

“...Patton,” Logan said quietly, his head drooping with shame.

“I just want us all to have one holiday together with no fighting and no arguing and I just want us all to get along, is that too much to _fucking ask for?!_ ” Patton sobbed, his voice growing in volume until it ended with a completely uncharacteristic screech. Logan and Roman were stunned at the venomous tones to the moral side’s voice, and were struck completely dumb by the swear. Patton buried his head in his arms again and wept inconsolably.

Roman was completely shaken. It didn’t hit him until just then that the family was crumbling apart on Christmas Eve.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to leave, trying to force the sound of Patton’s weeping out of his mind. He covered his ears, and stumbled towards his room, his stomach twisting in knots. He paused just outside of his door, his hand reaching for his door knob when he swore he heard something breaking in the far off distance.

He turned his head quickly in the direction he came, listening hard.  _Oh god_ , he thought to himself,  _Patton didn’t throw something, did he?_  But no, there came another crash, although this time Roman was certain that the noise was coming from deeper inside Thomas’s mind. He turned to peer down the shadowy hallway that lead to the darker corner of Thomas’s mind. Virgil’s old room was there, and that was where he lived before he had been welcome to a room closer to the commons. Roman swallowed, and felt himself moving down the hallway only slightly against his will; he felt an instinct deep in his gut telling him to find out what the source of the crashing was.  

He padded farther and farther down the hallway, until it melted into something that wasn’t a hallway, or even an indoor structure, at all. It felt like he was in a huge, cold cavern, and all around him there rushed a cold, damp breeze. Roman shivered. He couldn’t imagine living here.

He kept walking for what felt like ages. The sounds of renewed arguing from the commons had completely disappeared. With every step, the crashing noise grew louder and louder. Roman swallowed nervously, his eyes skittering in every direction. He paused as he felt his lungs tighten and his heart begin to pound.

Suddenly, he knew where he was.

He was in the land of the Forgotten.

This was the place where all the forgotten memories were lost. This was where all the useless information that was cleaned from Thomas’s consciousness by Logan each night while Thomas dreamt was sent. In the shadows there were inklings of thoughts, faces of people Thomas had long forgotten, whispers of knowledge remembered but now lost.

Here in the Forgotten Land, there was Virgil.

Roman paused in his tracks, giving a small cry of shock when a great shattering of glass pierced his ears. The dreadful noise echoed and throbbed throughout the great cavern, the whispers and faces letting out thin moans. Roman swiveled around when he heard a faint growl.

There, on the edge of a precipice, stood Virgil.

He seemed remarkably unflustered for one who was literally feet away from entering a part of Thomas’s mind where he would well and truly be forgotten. His hood was up, the dark purple of the patches pulsating like cysts. The anxious side was conjuring plates and throwing them as hard as he could against the ground; hence was the source of the crashing noise. With every plate he threw, he heaved a grunt of rage.

Roman didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. He bowed his head, the rhythmic crash of the plates ringing in his ears.

“What’s up, Ro?”

Roman jerked his head up sharply. He saw Virgil, his back turned, with his hands now thrust deep into his pockets. Roman was surprised. Virgil didn’t sound mad, or even sarcastic.

He sounded exhausted.

Roman shuffled his feet, thumbing his sash. “...Does that help?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered shards of ceramic. They looked like stark white drops of blood against the dim light and black stone.

Virgil turned around slowly. His hood was up at such an angle so hat Roman couldn’t see his face.

“...Kind of,” he whispered.

There was a thick silence as they stared at the shiny, damp cavern floor, surveying the wreckage of the plates, surveying the work of Virgil’s rage and suffering. The faint wind ruffled their hair, the whispers of the forgotten tickling their ears.

Suddenly, Virgil stamped his foot, his hands grappling at his hood.

“It’s all so fucking stupid!” he cried, grinding shards under his shoes, “We were just screwing around, you know, you and me, Ro?”

Roman blinked, reaching out so as to hold Virgil, his fingers curling into a fist that he withdrew when Virgil began to shake.

“You and I were just messing around, we fight about stupid stuff because that’s what best friends  _do,_ ” Virgil cried, his voice shaking and sounding as if three people, all speaking in different octaves, were speaking over one another, “But Logan had to go and...had to go and make me  _remember_...”

Virgil slapped his hand over his mouth, and began to shake violently. Roman felt like crying out when Virgil began to quake violently, muffled sobs fighting to escape from between his clenched teeth and suffocating hand.

“Virgil…” Roman said in a small voice, for once completely at a loss for what to say.

“Had to make me remember that you guys hated me, made me remember... remember that I never had a fucking real Christmas. Treated me like...like a _t-thing_  again,” Virgil gasped, sucking in panicked, shaky breaths.

Roman jumped when Virgil snapped his head up, tearing his hoodie back. Roman felt the knots in his stomach constrict and felt his eyes sting when he saw that Virgil’s eyeshadow was pierced by tear stains, the anxious side’s eyes wet and red as more and more tears streamed down his face. He made searing eye contact with Roman, his stare making Roman’s heart squirm with pity and guilt.

“A  _thing_ , Roman!” he wailed, clasping his sweaterpaws over his eyes and completely breaking down. He fell to his knees, his joints cracking loudly as they hit the freezing rock below their feet. He wept openly, his body wracked by sobs. 

Roman quickly knelt before him, not caring when the shards of ceramic pierced the fabric of his pants and scraped his skin. He reached his hands out, so wanting to hold Virgil, but he didn’t know whether or not he was crossing an invisible boundary he wasn't meant to cross yet. He felt his own eyes welling up with tears as Virgil sobbed brokenly.

“Virgil…” Roman squeaked, his voice cracking with the emotion that was forming a lump in his throat. He quickly cleared it, and continued, “Virgil...you’re not a thing. Logan was just being an utter asshole again. To me, you’re...you’re a friend, a wonderful friend.”

Virgil cried harder, his shoulders hunching.

“No matter what you do, no matter what you think, no matter what Logan ever says, you will never be a thing,” Roman said between gritted teeth, trying his hardest to stop himself from crying empathy tears, “And while it may not seem like it right now...you’re family.”

Virgil sniffled, pausing long enough in his crying to take a breath and look at Roman. He looked utterly defeated.

“Sure, tell that to me again when they’re not always picking me apart like I’m some fucking psych ward patient, or like I’m some corpse on a table.”

“I did say it might not seem like it right now,” Roman reminded him gently, “...We all have a lot to work to do. But just...just understand, Virgil, that I…”

Roman swallowed, and looked at his twisted hands in his lap. When he remained silent, Virgil was bereaved with another round of sobs.

“Virgil…” Roman started again, gently reaching forward to hold the anxious side’s knees, “...C-Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil stiffened noticeably under his hand.

“...Please…” Roman whimpered, “...I just want to help you feel better.”

Virgil melted, crying out but nodding. Shakily, Roman unfolded his legs from underneath himself, sat pretzel style, and gently lifted Virgil under the arms. He was much lighter than Roman had imagined; who knew what bony frame was hidden beneath that hoodie? He situated Virgil in his lap so that Virgil’s side was leaning into his chest. Virgil squirmed until he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and merely shook as he tried to suppress his tears.

But what little composure he had left broke when Roman gathered him close, wiping the tear tracks from wherever he could reach. Virgil’s head slumped against Roman’s chest, and he tilted his head so that he might hide his face in Roman’s shirt. He clung to the fabric of Roman’s sash, crying his heart out as Roman whispered him soothing platitudes and bounced him gently in his arms.

Eventually, Roman just sat in silence while letting Virgil cry, opting instead to stroke the anxious side’s back and nuzzle his nose into his hair so that the other side would be reminded of Roman’s presence when he felt Roman’s breath.

Eventually, Roman couldn't take it anymore. He trembled slightly as tears of his own slid down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, grieving for Virgil, who was going through a pain Roman had never wanted him to go through again. He squeezed Virgil even closer to his chest, letting himself gasp out one small sob before completely shutting himself off

Eventually, Virgil calmed down enough until he was only sniffling and whimpering, pawing at Roman’s chest and curling closer to the strong warmth.

“I’m sorry I...I’m sorry I forgot why you hate Christmas,” Roman whispered, his voice shaking.

“...It’s OK.”

“No it’s not.”

“...I’m too fucking sad and tired to argue with that right now, Ro. Just...you’re wrong, OK?”

“...OK.”

Thin silence.

“...I wish we could all just...get along.” Virgil whimpered into Roman’s chest.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore visions of Patton crying, himself and Logan yelling, and Virgil smashing plates.

“...Me too.”

Alas, getting along was not to be. For that year, Virgil still did not have a real Christmas.

None of them did.  

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, gang. I usually write angst with a happy ending, so I wanted to challenge myself and leave a sad ending. It sucked a lot because I love these characters and I absolutely hated making Logan a villain. Ah well.  
> I should also mention I got this as prompt on Tumblr (@theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly hit me up)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Sorry again.


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